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PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource
PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource

Cymbeline Scenes


Scene 1

Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace.

(First Gentleman; Second Gentleman; Queen; Posthumus; Imogen; Cymbeline; Lords; Pisanio)


Two gentlemen gossip about how the princess Imogen has displeased her father the king by marrying “a poor but worthy gentleman” and has been imprisoned, while her husband is banished. Imogen was supposed to marry the unworthy Cloten, her stepbrother. Imogen’s stepmother the queen hypocritically assures Posthumus and Imogen of her friendship before going to suggest to Cymbeline that he take a walk that will lead him straight to the lovers. Imogen assures Posthumus that in truth the Queen hates her and is plotting evil. Posthumus tells Imogen he will be staying with Philario in Rome. She gives him a ring to wear until they meet again, and Posthumus leaves her a bracelet. Cymbeline enters, infuriated that they have met again. Posthumus leaves in disgrace and Cymbeline and Imogen have a battle of words, Imogen telling her father it is his own fault if she fell in love with her now-husband. Cymbeline orders the Queen to lock Imogen up. Posthumus’ servant Pisanio reports that Cloten and Posthumus have fought, but were separated before damage was done. (218 lines)

Enter two Gentlemen.

1. GENT.

You do not meet a man but frowns. Our bloods

No more obey the heavens than our courtiers’

Still seem as does the King’s.

2. GENT.

But what’s the matter?

1. GENT.

His daughter, and the heir of ’s kingdom (whom

He purpos’d to his wive’s sole son—a widow

That late he married), hath referr’d herself

Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She’s wedded,

Her husband banish’d, she imprison’d: all

Is outward sorrow, though I think the King

Be touch’d at very heart.

2. GENT.

None but the King?

1. GENT.

He that hath lost her too; so is the Queen,

That most desir’d the match. But not a courtier,

Although they wear their faces to the bent

Of the King’s looks, hath a heart that is not

Glad at the thing they scowl at.

2. GENT.

And why so?

1. GENT.

He that hath miss’d the Princess is a thing

Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her

(I mean, that married her, alack, good man!

And therefore banish’d) is a creature such

As, to seek through the regions of the earth

For one his like, there would be something failing

In him that should compare. I do not think

So fair an outward and such stuff within

Endows a man but he.

2. GENT.

You speak him far.

1. GENT.

I do extend him, sir, within himself,

Crush him together rather than unfold

His measure duly.

2. GENT.

What’s his name and birth?

1. GENT.

I cannot delve him to the root: his father

Was call’d Sicilius, who did join his honor

Against the Romans with Cassibelan,

But had his titles by Tenantius, whom

He serv’d with glory and admir’d success:

So gain’d the sur-addition Leonatus;

And had (besides this gentleman in question)

Two other sons, who in the wars o’ th’ time

Died with their swords in hand; for which their father,

Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow

That he quit being, and his gentle lady,

Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas’d

As he was born. The King he takes the babe

To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,

Breeds him and makes him of his bedchamber,

Puts to him all the learnings that his time

Could make him the receiver of, which he took,

As we do air, fast as ’twas minist’red,

And in ’s spring became a harvest; liv’d in court

(Which rare it is to do) most prais’d, most lov’d,

A sample to the youngest, to th’ more mature

A glass that feated them, and to the graver

A child that guided dotards. To his mistress

(For whom he now is banish’d), her own price

Proclaims how she esteem’d him; and his virtue

By her election may be truly read,

What kind of man he is.

2. GENT.

I honor him

Even out of your report. But pray you tell me,

Is she sole child to th’ King?

1. GENT.

His only child.

He had two sons (if this be worth your hearing,

Mark it), the eldest of them at three years old,

I’ th’ swathing clothes the other, from their nursery

Were stol’n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge

Which way they went.

2. GENT.

How long is this ago?

1. GENT.

Some twenty years.

2. GENT.

That a king’s children should be so convey’d,

So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,

That could not trace them!

1. GENT.

Howsoe’er ’tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh’d at,

Yet is it true, sir.

2. GENT.

I do well believe you.

1. GENT.

We must forbear. Here comes the gentleman,

The Queen, and Princess.

Exeunt.

Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen.

QUEEN.

No, be assur’d you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most stepmothers,

Evil-ey’d unto you. You’re my prisoner, but

Your jailer shall deliver you the keys

That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,

So soon as I can win th’ offended King,

I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet

The fire of rage is in him, and ’twere good

You lean’d unto his sentence with what patience

Your wisdom may inform you.

POST.

Please your Highness,

I will from hence today.

QUEEN.

You know the peril,

I’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying

The pangs of barr’d affections, though the King

Hath charg’d you should not speak together.

Exit.

IMO.

O

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,

I something fear my father’s wrath, but nothing

(Always reserv’d my holy duty) what

His rage can do on me. You must be gone,

And I shall here abide the hourly shot

Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,

But that there is this jewel in the world

That I may see again.

POST.

My queen, my mistress!

O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause

To be suspected of more tenderness

Than doth become a man. I will remain

The loyall’st husband that did e’er plight troth.

My residence in Rome at one Philario’s,

Who to my father was a friend, to me

Known but by letter; thither write, my queen,

And with mine eyes I’ll drink the words you send,

Though ink be made of gall.

Enter Queen.

QUEEN.

Be brief, I pray you.

If the King come, I shall incur I know not

How much of his displeasure.

Aside.

Yet I’ll move him

To walk this way. I never do him wrong

But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;

Pays dear for my offenses.

Exit.

POST.

Should we be taking leave

As long a term as yet we have to live,

The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!

IMO.

Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,

Such parting were too petty. Look here, love,

This diamond was my mother’s. Take it, heart,

But keep it till you woo another wife,

When Imogen is dead.

POST.

How, how? Another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

And cere up my embracements from a next

With bonds of death!

Puts on the ring.

Remain, remain thou here,

While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,

As I my poor self did exchange for you,

To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles

I still win of you. For my sake wear this:

It is a manacle of love, I’ll place it

Upon this fairest prisoner.

Putting a bracelet upon her arm.

IMO.

O the gods!

When shall we see again?

Enter Cymbeline and Lords.

POST.

Alack, the King!

CYM.

Thou basest thing, avoid hence, from my sight!

If after this command thou fraught the court

With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away!

Thou’rt poison to my blood.

POST.

The gods protect you,

And bless the good remainders of the court!

I am gone.

Exit.

IMO.

There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

CYM.

O disloyal thing,

That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap’st

A year’s age on me.

IMO.

I beseech you, sir,

Harm not yourself with your vexation,

I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare

Subdues all pangs, all fears.

CYM.

Past grace? Obedience?

IMO.

Past hope, and in despair, that way past grace.

CYM.

That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

IMO.

O blessed, that I might not! I chose an eagle,

And did avoid a puttock.

CYM.

Thou took’st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne

A seat for baseness.

IMO.

No, I rather added

A lustre to it.

CYM.

O thou vild one!

IMO.

Sir,

It is your fault that I have lov’d Posthumus:

You bred him as my playfellow, and he is

A man worth any woman; overbuys me

Almost the sum he pays.

CYM.

What? Art thou mad?

IMO.

Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were

A neat-herd’s daughter, and my Leonatus

Our neighbor shepherd’s son!

Enter Queen.

CYM.

Thou foolish thing!

To the Queen.

They were again together; you have done

Not after our command. Away with her,

And pen her up.

QUEEN.

Beseech your patience. Peace,

Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,

Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort

Out of your best advice.

CYM.

Nay, let her languish

A drop of blood a day, and being aged

Die of this folly!

Exit with Lords.

Enter Pisanio.

QUEEN.

Fie, you must give way.

Here is your servant. How now, sir? What news?

PIS.

My lord your son drew on my master.

QUEEN.

Hah?

No harm, I trust, is done?

PIS.

There might have been,

But that my master rather play’d than fought

And had no help of anger. They were parted

By gentlemen at hand.

QUEEN.

I am very glad on’t.

IMO.

Your son’s my father’s friend, he takes his part

To draw upon an exile. O brave sir!

I would they were in Afric both together,

Myself by with a needle, that I might prick

The goer-back. Why came you from your master?

PIS.

On his command. He would not suffer me

To bring him to the haven; left these notes

Of what commands I should be subject to,

When’t pleas’d you to employ me.

QUEEN.

This hath been

Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honor

He will remain so.

PIS.

I humbly thank your Highness.

QUEEN.

Pray walk awhile.

IMO.

To Pisanio.

About some half hour hence,

Pray you speak with me. You shall, at least,

Go see my lord aboard. For this time leave me.

Exeunt.

 

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